A Bleeding Heart
by TakenHawkeye
Summary: BJ, worried about a terrible problem he may have, talks to Father Mulcahy one night. This is the story of his struggle and the camp's support. Will review all who review me.
1. Default Chapter 1

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Knock, knock, knock.

Startled, Father Mulcahy turned toward the door.

"Come in." He quickly turned back to the letter laid out before him, and with a flourish, put on the finishing touches. A glance back at the tall frame entering the tent, careful to close the door before the harsh winter wind could invade the small space, and Father Mulcahy set down his pen. "BJ, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, sit down."

BJ hesitated. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all. I was just finishing a letter to my sister."

"The Sister?"

"The very one." A hint of a smile crept unto the older man's face as he motioned BJ to take a seat. "What can I do for you?"

BJ squirmed, holding his gaze with the Father's eyes.

"I wasn't sure who I could -- I thought maybe Hawkeye, but he -- can I ask you for a favor, Father?"

Father Mulcahy blinked his eyes, nodding slowly.

"I thought maybe I should have Radar call up Sidney --"

"Freedman?"

BJ nodded. "I -- I think I may have a problem. It hasn't been going on long, but that's why I came here. I don't want it to go on long. I figured, you being a priest and all, you could help me." BJ paused, staring for a moment at the confused face of Father Mulcahy, edged with worry. Quickly, he stood up. "Maybe I shouldn't have -- I'm sorry for your time, I'll just--"

"BJ?" The young man turned around, hand on the door. "As a priest, anything you come to me with must remain confidential. I can offer advice, help to the best of my ability, but it is strictly against the code to reveal anything to another man."

BJ slowly made his way back to the chair.

Gently, as comforting as he could manage, Father Mulcahy broke the silence that started to set in. "What is it, BJ?"

BJ looked around the tent for a moment, before he closed his eyes. Leaning back in the chair, arms folded in front of him, he answered, eyes still closed. "A little over a month ago, just before Christmas, I was on duty in Post Op." His eyes fluttered open as he angled his face towards the man sitting calmly before him. "It was a night shift, and during the lull we had. Only a patient or two. I told Nurse Kelley she could leave, I'd be fine on my own.

"Earlier that day I got a letter from Peg. Telling me about all the new things Erin could do. Eat with a spoon, that sort of thing. How she learned to say 'Mommy', but couldn't -- couldn't say 'Daddy'." BJ swallowed, and after a moment started up again.

"I was alone in Post Op, and the patients were asleep. The rest of the camp was asleep or passed out after a night in the Officer's Club. I got to thinking about home, and Peg, and the war, and Erin -- everything I was missing."

Father Mulcahy, brow knitted in perplexity, nodded encouragingly for BJ to continue.

"I was rearranging a few of the surgical supplies, for something to do, and thinking at the same time, just feeling worse with each thought, and before I knew what was going on I -- it wasn't on purpose, but I --" A shuddering breath and BJ cut off, dropping his head into his hands.

Father Mulcahy, startled at the rare moment of vulnerability the young man was showing, reached a hand out in comfort. Startled, BJ jerked his head from his hands, face relaxing when he realized who it was.

Worried, Father Mulcahy carefully said, "Go on."

"I --" BJ shook his head, and, after a moment's consideration, added, "I think it's best if you see for yourself."

BJ brought himself to his feet, and began to take off the parka that was standard for many in the camp with weather so cold. Dropping the coat to the floor, he sat back down and began to roll up his sleeves. Father Mulcahy gasped.

"BJ, what --" Father Mulcahy gingerly ran a finger over the bandages covering the other man's arms. "What happened? I couldn't -- are you alright?"

As he rolled his sleeves back down, BJ just nodded, solemn. "The cuts are healing, just fine, and, in one case, the stitches are doing their job."

"This is all from --" Father Mulcahy ran a hand through his hair, his other arm motioning.

"No. It's happened a few more times." BJ dropped his gaze. "I worry it may be a problem. No, that's not right, it's already a problem. I just don't -- it could become habit, and I worry --" Helpless, he shut his mouth.

"Hawkeye and Major Burns, they haven't noticed?"

BJ shook his head. "Frank's too concerned with himself, and it's surprisingly easy to keep something like this a secret. I don't think Hawk's noticed anything, the shifts he's been working have just been taking too much out of him."

Father Mulcahy grimly nodded. "May I ask you --"

"Why? I'm not sure, actually, but it seems like it helps. That pain, the pain I get when I think of all the death around this place, or when I think of my family and how I should be home with them, it stops whenever I -- it goes away. I don't feel anything, and it gets to be so much nicer, feeling nothing instead of that pain." BJ bite a lip. "But it doesn't solve anything, and it could really do some damage. I'm not an idiot, I know what I'm doing to myself. I -- I had to tell someone and I figured you --"

"I think I understand, a bit." Father Mulcahy stood up, and leaned over to where BJ's parka lay on the floor. Handing it to the frightened man, he added, "When I was younger, a man I once knew told me of a child he met with a similar problem. He said the best thing a person could do was be there for the other man." He hesitated. "BJ, it's not -- it's not suicidal, is it?"

"No. I -- it's not. It may seem like it, but it's not."

"I'm glad to hear that." Father Mulcahy lowered himself back into his chair. "I must admit, I'm not sure what to do exactly, but I will help. I could have Colonel Potter call for Sidney, if you wish. Tell him it was for a man I talked to in confession, and leave it at that."

"I'd be grateful if you did."

"Next time, please, come and get me. Maybe with another person there, you won't have to -- well, maybe another person to talk to will help. Perhaps talking to Hawkeye or writing your wife about this may help."

BJ stood, pulling his parka back on as he looked down to where Father Mulcahy sat, wringing his hands. "Father? You -- thank you. For listening. And for your help. It means a lot to me."

"Of course, any time. Promise me, next time you'll come and get me? Come talk to me?"

"I promise." BJ smiled, and turned to leave the tent. "I think I may go find Hawkeye now. He'd want to know if -- maybe he can help. If you'll tell me when that call to Sidney gets through --"

"I will."

"Thank you, again, Father." That said, BJ pushed open the door, made his way through, and quickly closed it before the harsh wind could reach Father Mulcahy.

Biting his lip, the older man turned back to his letter, head swirling with thoughts, and muttered, "God speed."


	2. Default Chapter 2

"Sidney, Father?" Colonel Potter glance up at the man before him, anxious to get back to the mountain of papers needing to be signed.

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble."

Colonel Potter sighed. "We're starting to really back up over here Father, I'm not sure if we have time to --"

"Please." Father Mulcahy looked across the desk, the most grave face he could muster plastered on. "Sir, I don't ask for much, and this is very important. I fear it may be the deciding factor between life and death."

Colonel Potter set his pen down, and leaned closer to where the other man stood. "That serious, huh?" Father Mulcahy just nodded, as the elder man leaned back to think.

"May I ask who for?"

"Well, I -- it was in confession, I don't think I can -- I want to but --"

"You can't." Colonel Potter nodded his understanding. After a moment's silence, he seemed to reach a decision. "I'll get Radar on the phone right away. You'll let me know if it works out fine?"

"Of course sir, I couldn't have you worrying." A pause, and then,"Thank you, Colonel."

"No need, Father. I worry about their souls just as much as the next priest."

Father Mulcahy smiled and quickly backed out of the office.

***

"A drink, Beej?"

BJ waved away the glass Hawkeye held out, his eyes staring intently at the paper before him. "Not right yet. I want to send this letter out with tomorrow's mail."

Hawkeye took a sip from the martini glass and peered over it's rim. "To Peg?"

"Of course."

"You just sent out a letter this morning. What could possibly have happened in one day to lead you to write a --" Hawkeye paused, counting, "-- three page letter?"

"Something came up."

"Something, yeah." Hawkeye muttered, and turned to his own bunk. Setting his glass down in favor of a pair of half-darned socks, he added, "Do I know what this something is?"

"I -- no." BJ paused, glancing over to where the younger man sat, socks in hand, "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

Hawkeye lowered the socks, an intent look on his face. "What is it Beej?"

BJ sighed, and dropped his pen. As he began to put away the letter, he replied, "I went to talk to Father Mulcahy this morning. He was really a help, even just listening. I --" BJ cut off, looking up to where Hawkeye sat, eyes filled with concern.

"Is everything okay? Is it Peg? Erin?"

"Everything's fine, don't worry I just --" BJ stopped, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's not fine, but it's not what you think. I think I have a problem, Hawkeye."

That said, Hawkeye abandoned all thoughts of darning socks, and quickly made his way over to BJ's cot. As he sat down next to him, he nodded. "Go on."

"I went to the Father today, because I don't want it to get worse. I don't want it to become a -- a habit." BJ turned away and began to roll up his sleeves, his back to Hawkeye. "It hasn't been long, so it's not too serious, but it is. It's -- oh, here." Taking a deep shuddering breath, he turned back around.

Hawkeye gasped, eyes widened at the sight of the bandages. "Beej what -- how did this -- who --"

BJ looked away from the puzzled gaze before him.

"You did it." Hawkeye sighed as understanding washed over him. "How long --"

"Over a month."

"Are they bad?"

"They'll heal just fine." BJ began to roll his sleeves down. "They're not suicidal. I just -- it helps. With the pain."

Hawkeye absentmindedly nodded. "We should get Sidney out here."

"He'll be here in a day or two."

"Colonel Potter know?"

"Just you and Father Mulcahy." Pointing to the letter, he added, "Peg, too."

Hawkeye stood up and made his way back to his cot, sinking into it. A moment's silence and then he snapped, "Are you stupid? How could you -- don't you realize what this could do to you? Not only the blood loss, but the infection and -- and just think of what it's doing to your mind! You -- why?"

BJ laid down, turning away from the accusing gaze Hawkeye held. "I -- it's like I wasn't there. I left my own mind, and watched someone else do it. I felt nothing and it was -- it was great. The pain, that pain that's in your gut and that guilt that weighs down your mind -- it was gone. Gone, Hawkeye. It felt so good. I could just shut off the pain, focus on something else for a change. I didn't even realize what I was doing while I was doing it. I never did. It wasn't until after --" BJ sighed a shuddering breath, and added, "I know what's wrong, Hawk. I know this is wrong. I went to Father Mulcahy to -- to stop. Sidney's coming to make me stop. I told you so you could help me. I don't want this to be something I can't get out of. I don't want to hurt myself this way, not anymore." BJ rolled back over, daring to catch a glimpse of Hawkeye's face.

To his surprise, Hawkeye was nodding, the softest expression he'd ever been seen with written in his eyes. After a moment he said, "I'm sorry. I just -- it scares me, Beej. I don't want you to take it so far you can't come back. I'll -- I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Be here. When I need you to, be here."

"Of course." Hawkeye managed to smile a weak smile before picking up the forgotten socks again.


	3. Default Chapter 3

"How does this sound?" BJ laid down his pen, turning to where Hawkeye stood beside the still, peering over his shoulder at the paper before him. "'Dear Peg'." Sighing, he set the paper down.

"Well, I think that says it all, right there." Hawkeye crossed the tent, making his way to his cot. As he began to pull back the blankets and slide between the scratchy sheets, he asked, "What happened to the other letter you were writing this morning?"

"I tossed it. I couldn't find a way to explain -- it just didn't sound right. Didn't do the situation justice." BJ picked the pen up again, setting it back down immediately, and crumpling up the sheet of paper, tossed it into the stove. Leaning over, he quickly and forcefully slammed the stove door close.

Hawkeye lowered the blankets, peeking out at BJ.

"The stove started it, I swear."

The taller man stood up, and began to pace. "Hawk, how they hell do I -- how can I make her understand? How can I tell her something like this, and expect her to miraculously understand? I can't do this to her, tell her that her husband's cracking up, ruining himself. I can't --" Mind elsewhere, BJ began to ready for bed, scrambling for the shirt he normally wore asleep, a shirt Peg had sent him nearly three months ago.

Hawkeye watch as BJ slowly took his jacket off, exposing the stark white bandages covering his arms. Unable to tear his eyes away, he sat up on the cot. "Potter's going to know. Nothing much gets past that man, nothing like this."

"I know." BJ flopped, graceless, onto his cot.

"This could probably get you that Section Eight Klinger's been bucking for. Get you sent out of this hell."

Rolling over, the blonde man snapped out, "I know, Hawk, I know. Just drop it, will you."

Whatever retort he had was drowned out by the sound of an approaching jeep. Hawkeye jumped out to peer out the window of the Swamp. BJ lifted his head, turning it towards the offending noise.

"Wounded? At this hour?" Grumbling, he pulled himself up. "I suppose with Frank in Tokyo, it'll make the OR all the more pleasant."

"No need, BJ. It's just Sidney." Hawkeye turned around, darting his eyes at the bandages before catching BJ's eyes.

"Oh." As Hawkeye made his way back to his cot, BJ wrapped himself in the rough woolen blanket and turned away once more. "Oh."

"I'm here to relieve you." BJ glanced up from the chart he was reading to watch Hawkeye step silently around a sleeping patient and dart over.

"I just started my shift." Putting the chart back, he motioned to the near empty Post Op. "There's hardly anyone left in here, I think I'll manage on my own for the night." Closer up, BJ could notice the bags forming under Hawkeye's eyes and the sharp redness streaking outwards from the pupils. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Head back to the Swamp, I'll come get you when I think I've had my fill."

Hawkeye shook his head. "I could stay here and --"

It was then that BJ pushed his was past the dark haired man, and angrily muttered. "God dammit, Hawk, I'm not a child. I can manage in Post Op by myself for a night."

Hawkeye spun on his heels and cut right in front of the younger man's path. "I'm just trying to help. I didn't want you to --"

"Look, I know what you didn't want. You really think I'm so much better back in the Swamp all alone, with only the still? At least here I have a patient or two that I can --"

"You said yourself that you wanted me to be here for you. You're the one who said that maybe if you weren't alone --"

"I didn't mean you had to follow me every waking moment!" BJ stepped back, making his way across the room, saying all the way, "First it was in the Officer's Club, remember? You wouldn't let me get a damn drink, one lousy drink, told me it was a depressant. You stared at me in the Mess Tent any time I touched a knife to cut my food, Margaret thought you were losing it. Then you rope Radar into following me around on your shifts, poor kid doesn't even know why. Just does it because you asked him to. You watch me like a -- excuse the pun -- hawk, ever single moment!" One hand on the door, BJ paused. "I appreciate this, really I do, but I do not need to be watched all the time. If you turn your back I will not go straight to the nearest scalpel, I promise you. If I feel the need to, I will come to you, and then we'll deal with this. But until then, just -- just leave me alone, let me work through this as best as I can alone."

Hawkeye nodded, and began to walk past the rows of cots and through the door BJ held open. "Sure, Beej, sure. Whatever you say." He hesitated when he reached the man, just long enough to mutter. "I'm trying to understand, really, I am. I'm sorry if I seem in your way all the time, but I do not want you to --" Hawkeye just shook his head, and stepped out into the harsh winter weather. "I won't let that happen again."

BJ watched as the man staggered along the compound, shoulders hunched in defeat. Sighing, he turned back to the nearest chart, and began to check the man's heart rate.

"Come in." Father Mulcahy set his book down, smiling when he saw Sidney Freedman walk into the tent. Just as BJ had, nights before, the man quickly shut the door, eager to be out of the bitter cold.

"Father." His head bowed in greeting as Father Mulcahy stood, extending a hand. As he grasped it, Sidney said, "It's good to see you."

"You too, Sidney, you too." Sighing, he broke the handshake. "I just wish it were under better circumstances."

"Ah, yes, Potter told me you were the one I should be talking to."

"Please, have a seat."

As the two men sat down, making themselves comfortable, Sidney got straight to the business at hand. "What seems to be the problem? As far as I could make out over the static, Radar seems to think it was urgent."

"Yes, well, you see -- ah -- I'm not quite sure if it's as serious as Radar may have said. It very well may be, but I'm not quite sure. I thought it's be best to call you in any case."

Sidney leaned forward, eyes burrowing into the man fidgeting before him. "What is it, Father?"

"It's BJ." Father Mulcahy stood up, reaching for a coffee pot that sat nearby. Silently he offered some, continuing when he was refused. "He came into my tent a few nights ago. Wasn't sure who to talk to, it seems he had a bit of a problem on his hands -- oh, my, that probably wasn't the best way to put it."

"Go on."

The Father seemed to shake himself slightly. Carefully, he lowered himself into the chair. "He rolled up his sleeves, Sidney, and they were covered in these bandages, both of them, just covered. He told me he did it himself, that for a few weeks he's been hurting himself."

Sidney sighed, and tugged down on his hat. "I suppose it can't ever be easy in a war." Almost as if reluctant he stood up. "Did he say how long? How much damage is being done? Did it seem suicidal, perhaps, or was it just battle fatigue?"

Father Mulcahy shook his head slowly. "Since before Christmas, I think he said. He assured me they weren't serious -- serious cuts, and I even asked if they were based on suicidal thoughts. He said no, and I believe him. His eyes weren't lying to me." He hesitated before adding, "I don't think they were simply battle fatigue. He said something about a pain and how it -- well, you know."

Sidney nodded. Adjusting his hat once more, he made his way to the door. "Father? Calling me, that was really -- thank you. I'm sure BJ thanks you too. Lucky to have a Chaplin like you in the camp. Now if you excuse me, I think I must go and have a talked with the man."

He tipped his hat farewell and slipped out the door.


	4. Default Chapter 4

It was halfway through his Post Op shift that BJ spotted Potter rushing around in the adjoining office. Slipping through the door, he watched for a minute as the elder man ran around the room, opening files, shifting papers on Radar's desk, tearing the place apart.

"Colonel?"

"Oh, BJ good. Go and scrub, Radar says to expect a fresh batch of wounded at any moment."

"Can I help you look for something?" Potter straightened up, and turned to face BJ.

"No, no, that's alright. I was just searching for a number -- HQ's." Turning back to the desk, he added, "I'd hurry and scrub. Radar thinks we won't have a moment to waste."

As BJ began to turn back through the door, the haunting sound of choppers echoed about.

"I'll never understand how that kid does it."

"I don't think we're meant to." Potter began to half-heartedly reorganize the mess he was making. "I've got Hawkeye doing Triage, and with Frank gone we'll be a little short, but I think we'll manage. No, go on, head out."

BJ nodded and sprinted through the doors to Pre Op. It was there Hawkeye found the man, hopping about as he struggled to tug on the freshly laundered white pants. As BJ pulled for a mask, motioning a nurse nearby to tie it, he asked, "How bad is it?"

"Hardly. We'll do just fine, a few hours at most." A pause and then, "Beej, I'm sorry. For how I was acting."

"No I'm -- I'm the one who should be sorry."

Hawkeye just nodded, switching the sink on and plunging his hands under the water. "There's a kid, Evans or something, he's been hit pretty bad. Chest is torn open, a rib may be puncturing a lung, and there's a bit of shrapnel surrounding the heart. He's got a small chance, but we've got to try. Think you can manage?"

"How small is the chance?"

"In Triage, he started as a three and moved up to a one as a whimsical hope."

BJ nodded. "The guy will be better than new."

Hawkeye smiled beneath the mask that was being tied on, and the two men quickly darted into the operating theater, ready to start their grisly work.

***

"Suction."

Hawkeye glanced up from the kidney he was prodding at to see BJ pull another piece of shrapnel from the Evans patient. It was quickly moving into the third hour of OR, and BJ had yet to touch another man. "How's it going Beej?"

"What? It's going, uh -- clamp -- it's going as best as it can."

Potter motioned for the nurse to close as he shouted for another man. "The lung?"

"It's fine. The man's pulse is slowing down to a normal speed, and his breathing seems regular. I think he may --" BJ cut off, brow furrowing.

"Thank the Lord." A nearby Father Mulcahy muttered, crossing himself.

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. "Think, or know?"

"I -- there's one last piece I can't seem to -- there." Grinning, he looked Hawkeye straight in the eye as he said, "I know." He dropped the shrapnel into a nearby tin, satisfied by the pinging noise that rang. "Klinger! Get me a new one, this man's done."

"Yes, sir."

"Move him carefully, he's not out of the woods yet."

"Yes, Colonel Potter."

Hawkeye set down his needle, saying, "This one can be moved into Post Op, post haste." Snapping of his gloves, he asked a passing nurse, "How many more men?"

"Six at best."

BJ slipped a fresh pair of gloves on as a new man was brought in. Hawkeye quickly pulled his own pair on, and the two men set to work on their respective patients. "Beej? Great job back there."

"You did good, son."

BJ nodded and replied only with, "Suction."

The OR bustled with activity as the three men concentrated on piecing the men before them back together.

***

It wasn't until a few hours later that Hawkeye and BJ managed to stumble back into the Swamp. Grateful as they were for a rather short OR session, they were even more grateful it was over, and celebrated over a glass or two of gin from the still. As he poured himself the martini, BJ stared almost defiantly at Hawkeye, waiting for the other man to protest his drunken intent. Hawkeye sat silently on his cot, lips pursed, sipping at his own martini, acting as if he didn't think alcohol was the last thing BJ needed. BJ just smiled, and sank into his own cot.

After a few moments of silence, broken only by the occasional sipping sound, Hawkeye set his glass down and began with all seriousness, "Beej? I don't want you to get angry again, but -- I'm only saying this because I want you to get over your -- to get past this."

"Hawk?"

Hawkeye stood up and began to refill his martini glass. "Sidney's been in camp a few days now, you can't keep avoiding him. You've got the man so worried he -- not to mention how worried I --" Hawkeye cut off, sinking into his cot.

BJ sighed, setting down his half-empty glass. "I will. I just haven't been able to yet. But I will."

Hawkeye nodded his agreement, casting around for a quick change of subject. "What you did for Evans, that was -- well -- good work, you hear? Not many could have handled -- I'm sure he'll want to thank you when he comes to."

BJ stood up, opening the stove door to restart the fire, shivering as he did so. "Just wish I never had to fix him up in the first place."

Hawkeye could only nod as he wearily sank further into his cot. BJ quickly followed suit. They sat there, silent, for a few moments, both too tired to talk. After awhile, Hawkeye broke the tranquility of it all, offering, "To the Officer's Club we go, and I'll buy you a drink."

"You have no money."

"Can I borrow five bucks?" BJ raised an eyebrow. "I'll need a bit extra to buy a drink for my date."

"Which nurse?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Laughing, BJ stood up, holding out a hand to pull Hawkeye to his feet. As the two men made their way to the door, Radar burst through, toppling into them. As limbs were untangled and apologies exchanged, the young Corporal blurted out, "BJ, sir, it Evans. His pulse is dropping and he's struggling to breathe. The nurse said to hurry quick, he's in bad shape."

The words had hardly passed Radar's lips when BJ took of running as quick as he could in the direction of Post Op, Hawkeye on his heels. Radar spun around, racing after the two men, shouting to BJ instructions the nurse had given to him. They arrived in record time to catch sight of a frantic nurse and a weakening Evans. Without missing a beat BJ began to check the man's vital signs, worry etched in his face. Hawkeye watched, solemn, Radar peering over his shoulder to get a peek himself.

"It's that damn infection going around." BJ muttered to Hawkeye, as he counted heart beats, "Taking it's toll on the kid, and it isn't wasting anytime."

"Has a habit of showing up unexpectedly. Reminds me of Mom's sister Ethel. Never once called ahead, just dropped in without an invite."

Radar paused, thoughtful, before replying, "I'd say the whole war is like that, sir."

"I'd say you were right, Radar." There was silence for a moment, before --

"Nurse! Adrenaline, quick." BJ dropped the wrist he held, as he began to push down on the man's chest, using all the force he could muster. "Nurse!"

Radar backed away from the activity that was rapidly picking up, eyes wide. "Hawkeye, is he --"

A nurse came running, jostling Radar out of the way in the process. As Hawkeye tore the syringe from her hands, jabbing the needle into Evans, BJ continued pressing the chest, harder and quicker now, a faint line of sweat lining his forehead.

Hawkeye reached for the wrist dangling in front of Radar, seizing it with a searching look on his face. "Nothing yet."

It was then that Radar, tears beginning to well up, turned and slowly walked into his office, crying the moment he reached the comfort of his cot. He lay there, feeling helpless, for a few minutes, unable to bring himself to move until BJ walked in.

It was the haunting look in the Captain's eyes, the look that left his face empty, as if he were nothing more than a body, a shell, that scared Radar. As BJ spoke, his voice faint as if he were miles away, his face blank and emotionless, Radar felt a shiver run down his back. The only sign of life in the other man's eyes were the tears that were being held back with every ounce of self-control the older man possessed.

"Radar, get me a death certificate, and a pen."

Radar complied as BJ shuffled out of the office, moving as if he weren't there, absentmindedly scratching at his arm as he walked.


	5. Default Chapter 5

"Hawkeye, just go, will you?" BJ half-heartedly waved a hand towards the door, preoccupied with the open stove before him.

"Look, Beej, I know you don't want to seem like a burden, but I really don't think I should leave you alone for --"

"Go, go, have a few drinks, meet a new nurse, stumble back in three hours from now, go. Radar's on his way, I've got to fill out the death certificate, then I'll head on over to Sidney's tent, alright? I'll be just fine. It's was only a patient, only a --" BJ made a choking noise, pausing to draw in a breath. "Only another dead man."

Hawkeye sighed and lowered himself onto the cot beside BJ. Reaching a hand out, he gave a comforting pat as he said, "BJ, you did all you could."

"I've heard this all before Hawk, I don't need to hear it again."

"We can just have a night in. Drink ourselves silly via the still, play a few rounds of, while drinking a few rounds of, gin until the cards all blur together, it'll be a grand old night." Hawkeye slowly lowered his hand. "I don't want you to be alone, not now."

"Hawkeye, please." BJ shut the stove door, standing to pour himself a glass from the still. "Just go. Don't waste a night on account of me, the Officer's Club is waiting. The last thing I need is the guilt of knowing I ruined one of the few nice evenings we get in this damn war."

Hawkeye seemed to be considering this for a moment, almost ready to give in, when he suddenly shook his head. "It's alright, I was getting sick of Nurse Daggett anyway. A perfect figure like that, she's bound to have a few personality flaws." He grinned, straining to ease the tension.

"Hawkeye . . . " BJ trailed off, pointing to the door.

A moment passed. "Alright, alright, I give in, I cave. Have it your way. I will go, drink myself into a stupor, and in the process a Nurse's tent, and I will return by dawn's early light." Hawkeye pulled himself to his feet, shuffling over to where his parka lay waiting. As he began to zip himself up he shot a meaningful glance BJ's way. "You should change those bandages. Last thing you need is an infection that'll knock you off your feet for days." He began to walk over to the door, adding over his shoulder. "Beej, you may have heard it before, but it's true. There was nothing more you could do for the kid." BJ nodded, eyes cast downward. "Just -- watch yourself. I'll be back in a few hours."

BJ managed to plaster on a smile, his cheeks aching from the strain, and made a motion that vaguely resembled a salute. As Hawkeye's figure quickly retreated into the thrashing wind, the smile faded away.

Gentle yet hurried footfalls echoed away until they faded into nothing, as BJ scrambled to open his footlocker. Halfway there, he stopped. He stood, perfectly still, in the middle of the Swamp, hand reaching out, one foot in mid-step. Slowly his breath became ragged, choppy. He seemed frozen in time, unable to move or breathe, lost. The silence of the tent pressed down on him, covering him.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, and BJ dropped to his footlocker. He struggled to open it, shaking hands making it nearly impossible to work the lock. Again, BJ stopped. His mind raced, arguing with itself, as his labored breaths echoed in the tent. He went back to the lock, rejoicing as it popped open. Urgently, he shoved a hand into the trunk and began to dig around.

Retrieving just what he wanted, he roughly shoved his sleeves up past his elbows, hardly aware of the cold air that hissed about the Swamp, and began to rip the stark white bandages from his arms. He took no care in doing his job, and was quickly done, bandages crumpled to the floor. His mind was clouded over, and try as he might he could not work his way through the fog, leaving him rendered helpless, unable to control what his own body began to do to itself, his actions involuntary. For a moment he felt nothing, until the first white-hot tear pierced his cheek.

He continued on, as if unaware.

***

Radar took a deep breath before opening the door to his office, quickly rushing out into the winter wind. Half walking, half jogging, he kept his head bent low, the wind stinging his eyes until tears began to form. Not for the first time, Radar wished that he never had to leave the slight warmth of his office. Through the parka he wore tightly around him, he fingered the folded certificate in his pocket. He hated many of his jobs, the delivery of a death certificate one of them, and wanted nothing more than to not have to notify yet another family of a death. Of all the things to despise in a war, death was Radar's most loathed.

He pushed all thoughts of death and the unpleasant tasks before him dealing with Evans's return to the states as he impatiently knocked on the Swamp door. Radar was sure that the stove was on, and with the flaps of the tent down, the Swamp was guaranteed to be warmer than the middle of the compound. Unable to feel his fingers, he knocked again.

"Captain Hunnicut, sir? Are you in there?"

A scrambling sound came from behind the door, followed by a strangled, "Hold on!"

Radar began to bounce from foot to foot, moving to heat up as his teeth chattered. Just when he was about to leave, positive another moment in the cold would freeze his blood straight through, he could hear BJ call for him to come in. Radar hastily took advantage of the invitation.

Inside, BJ sat across the tent on his cot, his back to Radar, shaking slightly. Radar darted over to the stove in the middle of the room, rubbing his hands together over the fire. "I brought you the certificate, sir. And a real nice pen to fill it out with."

"Thank you, Radar." Still, BJ did not turn around.

"And when you're done Colonel Potter wonders if he could talk to you. He's writing to Evans's family, says maybe you have a few things you'd like him to say?"

BJ didn't even both to raise one of the arms folded in front of him to wave off the offer. "Tell him I don't think there's anything I could say, but thanks anyway."

Radar carefully removed the certificate from his pocket and slowly extracted the fountain pen he held tucked inside a parka sleeve. "The pen belongs to the Colonel, bring it back when you're through." He gingerly set it down beside BJ, waiting for the older man to take it. He didn't. "I would have been here quicker, except I couldn't find the certificates. Klinger moved things all around last time he was clerk, I still haven't found the file cabinet for letters J-M."

BJ hardly grunted in acknowledgement.

Radar paused, taking a deep breath as he looked up to where the other man sat, his back straight. "Is it bad, sir?"

BJ stiffened. "Bad?"

"Your arms, are they bad this time?"

"How did -- what -- how can you --" BJ sputtered, long last turning to look at Radar over his shoulder.

Somberly, the young Corporal glanced at his shoes, muttering, "Not much goes through this camp I don't know, sir. I think I see more of what goes on than even Colonel Potter does."

"Colonel -- does he know?"

"No sir. It's not my place to tell him."

BJ nodded, his breaths shuddering. Slowly, seconds ticking away like hours, he turned his body around to face Radar, unfolding his arms as he did so. Radar sharply gasped at the sight before him.

Blood slowly trickled down the Captain's arms, steadily dripping. A red ribbon wrapped around his arms, winding up and down, in and out, slowly making it's way down to his hands, where it silently slipped off and onto his pants. Shaking, BJ looked up, a lone tear hiding beneath his eye.

"Radar? Help." He was quiet, talking hardly above a whisper, so that Radar had to strain to hear him. 

"I'll go get Hawkeye he --"

"No." BJ interrupted, his voice firm. "He deserves a night of -- no. Go and get -- go get Father Mulcahy. Quick."

Radar nodded, scrambling to the door. "I'll go and get Major Doctor Freedman too, he'll --"

"No. Just the Father."

Radar reluctantly agreed as he rushed back out into the cold compound and the night.

BJ sighed, laying back on his cot, watching the blood spill, unable to stop shaking.

***

Having checked both Post Op and the Father's tent, Radar entered the Officer's Club anxious and hopeful that he would find his man before any more time had passed. As the door slammed shut behind him, sharply cutting off the cold wind, hardly anyone looked up, all too concerned with the drinks before them. Radar scanned the room, eyes searching, and spotted Hawkeye seated at the bar leaning in close to a nurse, whispering. BJ's stern request that Hawkeye not be interrupted rang sharply in his mind. As much as Radar disagreed, feeling that the dark-haired doctor would want to know, he turned away. BJ had asked, and he had promised.

The sound of the ragtime music and the clanking of ivory keys broke through Radar's thoughts. Making his way through the dancing crowd to where Father Mulcahy sat playing, he briefly noted how inappropriate the upbeat melody and beat emitting from the piano seemed. Of course, he mused, Father Mulcahy couldn't very well know what was happening on the other side of the compound. Reaching the Chaplin, Radar wasted no time, speaking rapidly as he tried to inform the other man of the arising situation.

"Father?" Radar glanced around, checking carefully that the other occupants of the room were too busy dancing and drinking to pay attention to the Corporal.

"Ah, Radar? A request?"

"A what? Oh, no." He sharply shook his head. "Excuse me, Father, I hate to interrupt your playing, seeing as how much you like it and all, but I think I have to." He reached for the Father's hat, perched on the piano corner, and held it out to him as he continued. "I think you should come with me."

Father Mulcahy halted in his playing, turning to face Radar. Around the room protests of the dancing couples rang out, asking the priest to continue. He ignored them and gradually they quieted down again, a song now ringing out from the record player in the corner. 

"What is it, Radar?"

He leaned forward, beckoning the Father to come closer. Worried and puzzled, Father Mulcahy did just that.

"It's BJ, Father." Radar whispered, snapping back as soon as he had spoken.

"BJ?"

"He --" Radar's eyes darted around once more, wary, "He's hurt, bad. I found him in the Swamp, he doesn't look too good. Told me to come and get you, real quick like."

"BJ's -- oh my." Father Mulcahy snatched his hat from Radar's outstretched hand, jamming it onto his head as he jumped up. "This is -- oh dear, this is awful. I'd better go and -- oh, this is just -- oh, dear." Flustered, Father Mulcahy rapidly crossed to the door. Pausing only a moment, he turned to where Radar stood. "Thank you, Radar, for coming for me. The sooner I -- thank you. If you could go and get Sidney, so I could head right on over to --"

"No!" Radar broke in, suddenly. As a few of the nearest people turned to stare at the outburst, he lowered his voice. "No. Captain Hunnicut said he didn't want to see Major Doctor Freedman, not now. He made me promise not to get him."

"I really think --"

"_Promise_, Father. I can't go back on my word now."

Father Mulcahy stared at the door handle beneath his hand, deep in thought. "Dear, that is a problem, isn't it?" His brow furrowed as he mind raced. "Radar, you understand how important it is Sidney sees BJ right now, don't you?"

Radar merely nodded.

"And how mostly, with a situation like this, it would be best to let BJ decide what to do and not push him too hard?"

Again, he nodded.

Father Mulcahy lifted his hat, running a hand through his hair. "Then, Radar, you'll understand how right now letting BJ have what he wishes, and leaving Sidney out of this for the time being, cannot happen."

"I know, Father, but he --"

Quietly, Father Mulcahy cut in. "This is a serious matter and BJ needs not only my help as a friend, but Sidney's help as a professional. If it'll help, you can tell BJ I pulled rank and ordered you to."

Radar thought for a moment, shaking his head. "No. I think I'd rather you didn't."

"Of course." Hand on the door, hat firmly on his head, Father Mulcahy turned away. "I'll be in the Swamp, if anyone needs me." Without so much as a glanced back, he quickly exited, hurrying out into the cold.

Radar took one last look at Hawkeye, who sat laughing as he listened to one of the nurses, and followed after the Father.

***

"You're quite the charmer, Captain Pierce, I'll give you that."

Grinning, Hawkeye replied. "You've yet to feel the full force of my magnetic charm. This is just the beginning. And please, call me Hawkeye."

"Alright, Hawkeye." Pausing, Nurse Daggett added. "I'd love to get a chance to see the rest of your charm."

"I'd love to give you the chance." Coy, Hawkeye began to gently run a finger along her hand.

"How about now? Say -- my tent?" As Hawkeye's head snapped up, eyes meeting a sly smile, Daggett began to stand, holding a hand out to Hawkeye. Quickly, he scrambled out of his seat, grasping her hand.

Softly, he glanced into her eyes, whispering, "You sure?"

Daggett nodded. "Besides, another moment of this music and I think I'd go crazy." She gestured to the record player, blaring from the corner.

Hawkeye smiled. "If it's music you want, I have just the record. Give me a moment to go a fetch it from Frank's trunk and I'll meet you in your tent. Say, five minutes?"

She turned, pulling on his hand. "Oh, no you don't. I'm not letting you get away, not for a second. I'll come with."

And with that said, they hurried to pay for their half-empty drinks and rushed for the door.

***

"BJ? BJ, please, open the door. It's Father Mulcahy." Again, he knocked. No answer.

Unsure of what to do, he glanced around the compound, hoping for an answer to drop from the sky. He whispered a prayer under his breath and knocked once more. This time a faint "Come in" sounded from inside the tent. He wasted no time in doing just that.

As he hurried to shut out the cold behind him, Father Mulcahy spotted BJ sitting on his cot, working a bandage around his left arm with his right. The blood splattered against the olive drab of BJ's pants jumped out to him as he stepped over to the cot.

"Oh, BJ." He whispered.

Silently, he sat down besides the blonde man, reaching a hand out to halt him. Father Mulcahy gently took the bandage into his own hand winding up the arm himself. Fastening the white cloth closed, he threw an arm around BJ's shoulders, whispering small words of comfort as the young doctor began to cry.


	6. Default Chapter 6

"I was worried this would happen."

Radar sharply looked up. "Sir?"

Sidney brought himself to his feet, muttering, "I had heard about the Evans kid, I had just thought that maybe Hawkeye'd --" He shook his head, struggling to gather his thoughts. Suddenly, he looked to where Radar stood, as if noticing the young man for the first time. "You say you saw him?"

Radar nodded. "I found him in the Swamp, not all that long ago, sir."

Sidney absentmindedly waved a hand in acknowledgement, moving his lips silently, in thought. Radar watched as the man rummaged around the tent, muttering to himself, searching for something. Though, it was true, Radar certainly did not know much about psychiatrists or their jobs, he couldn't help but be bewildered by what seemed to be rather peculiar behavior coming from Sidney. He had only moments before arrived at the doctor's tent, wasting no time in telling him of what he felt Father Mulcahy had wanted to be shared, hastily adding BJ's stern feelings against seeing Sidney at that moment. Sidney had agreed with the Father, saying how it was of utmost importance he see BJ as soon as he could, and had then begun to ignore Radar, his head reeling with thoughts. Radar stood in the center of the tent, silent, waiting to be told what was needed of him next.

Sidney reached for his parka, slipping it on as he continued his questions. "He has no idea I know what just happened?"

"No, sir. Like I said, he made me promise, but Father --"

"And Mulcahy's with him right now?"

"Yes, he rushed right over as soon as I --"

"And Hawkeye's --"

Radar hurried to beat the man to it, anxious to do the interrupting instead. "On a date, yes, sir."

Sidney sighed, suddenly all business. "I'll be in the Swamp. If you could possibly make sure we're uninterrupted --"

"I'll do my best, sir." Radar paused. "Oops, sorry."

Sidney weakly smiled. "It's alright." He made for the door and was halfway out in the biting wind before he turned back. "Thank you."

Radar merely nodded. He stood perfectly still as the door slammed shut behind the psychiatrist, his mind working hard to catch up with all that had happened in a short time.

Captain Hunnicut, BJ, the man who had it all, who was more together than half the camp combined. A man Radar never worried would be broken by the war, a man he was sure would go home in one piece. And yet, he had been beaten, had lost the battle for his sanity. Radar shook his head, unable to believe it.

As he looked around and realized he was standing alone in an officer's tent, Radar managed to push all the thoughts from his mind. He hurried to the door, rushing out of it before anyone could notice that an enlisted man was in a major's tent, and ran to his office staring at the ground to keep the wind from his face.

There was probably some paperwork waiting for him, maybe a report to be filled out. Something was sure to need doing, it always was. He could easily lose himself in forms and signatures, easily forget the sight of the blood, of BJ's shaking, of the Father's horrified face, of Sidney's all-business manner.

Radar shrugged to himself. It couldn't hurt to try, at the very least.

***

Suddenly, his desperation turned to urgent anger as BJ jumped to his feet and began to pace around the small tent. Father Mulcahy sat by, fighting the urge to break the silence, taking it all in.

"Sidney?" BJ whipped around to stare at the seemingly defiant priest. "I told Radar I --"

"I know what you told Radar. I felt that --"

"You felt? Pardon me, Father, but you have no idea what this feels like." Stooping in front of his footlocker, BJ roughly threw it open, satisfied at the echoing _thunk _it made. He shoved a hand in and started to toss shirts and old packages from home out of his way, saying all the while, "You had no right to assume you know what I need, not to mention involve Sidney, absolutely no right." He turned away, focusing on the trunk before him.

"No right?" Father Mulcahy stiffened, working to keep his face from betraying the hurt he suddenly felt. He reminded himself that BJ was not in the most rational of states and silently prayed his temper would not get the best of him. "BJ, I believe that --"

BJ halted in his rummaging to glance over his shoulder. Coldly, he said, "You can't possibly understand this. No one can. Not you, not Hawkeye, not Sidney, not some priest you once knew who happened to hear about a child with this -- this problem. You haven't felt what I've felt, you haven't --"

"I had every right." BJ snapped his head up and slowly turned, still crouched, to face Father Mulcahy. For a split second he could see the white knuckles clutching the crucifix the chaplain often wore around his neck, before the grip was loosened. Quietly, he repeated himself. "I had every right. Not only as a man of God, a man who's life is dedicated to aiding those around him, but as your friend." Father Mulcahy faltered, unsure of himself as he caught sight of the look BJ wore. Unwilling to stop, he continued, his confidence wavering. "You came to me seeking help, BJ. I gave my word I would help as best as I could, and that is what I'm doing. I don't need to remind you that you agreed Sidney should be called. You agreed you need his help, and right now you just happen to need it most."

BJ slowly stood up, forgetting his frantic search through his footlocker for the moment. He stayed silent, staring at the Father, acutely aware of the concern in the man's face. A beat passed, and he replied, "You -- you're right. I'm sorry. I was --"

His apology was abruptly cut off by a sharp knock.

Sidney had arrived.

***

"Due back tomorrow morning, sir."

"Good, good, we'll need Burns in the OR. We're in for a long haul tomorrow, tonight was just the practice." Colonel Potter sighed, setting his pen down. "That all the forms you need my John Hancock on, Radar?"

"Just this form for the supply truck to bring more forms." Radar reached across the desk, pointing to the line that needed initials. "And Major Houlihan is wanting to speak with you, Colonel."

A flourish of the pen and the Colonel pushed the paper back into Radar's hands. With any luck he could keep the visit with Margaret short and head to his tent for a decent night's rest. "Send her --"

"I'll send her in."

"-- In." A beat. "Good." 

As the young Corporal quickly scurried to the door, Margaret took her opportunity to walk into the office, whacking Radar in the face in the process.

"Watch where you're going!"

Clutching his nose, he nodded. "I'll be on my bunk, sir." He staggered through the door, wincing as he prodded the lump that was forming.

Colonel Potter slightly cocked his head to the side in acknowledgement. Glancing to the woman fuming across the desk, he pushed all thoughts of sleep from his mind. "What can I do for you, Major?"

Margaret wasted no time, starting in on her complaints with enthusiasm that was rarely ever seen by anyone in the camp.

"I thought I go on in and check on how Bockmen's kidneys were holding up, make sure he was still stable. And you know what I found in Post-Op?"

Colonel Potter sighed, dropping his head into his hands. Margaret didn't seem to notice, choosing to ignore him if she did.

"Three of my nurses, tending to a full room of patients! Not one doctor on duty, not one. It is not up to my nursing staff to pick up after the doctors, filling in when they decide not to show up when they're supposed to. They can't be responsible for every single thing. They manage their duties just fine, they shouldn't have to --"

"Margaret." Colonel Potter glanced up. "I understand your concerns, and I'll send someone over pronto." He turned to the door. "Radar!'

Radar's head peeked through the window. "Sir?" He squinted at the two blurry figured before him, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the pain.

"Go fetch Hunnicut, send him on over to Post Op post haste."

Margaret sighed, satisfied, pulling herself to her feet as Radar came racing through the door.

"Hunnicut, sir? Cap -- Captain Hunnicut?"

Colonel Potter clenched his teeth, his nerves becoming more and more raw with each passing moment. "Is there any other, Radar?"

"No sir, it's just -- I don't think Captain Hunnicut is available now, sir."

Margaret halted in her tracks, turning to face the young man before her. "You don't think --"

Colonel Potter held up a hand, interrupting. "Radar, I don't care if he's available, just get him in there."

Radar reluctantly conceded. "Yes sir, I'll tell him right away." That said he hurried out the door, Margaret on his heels.

Colonel Potter sighed, lowering himself into his chair. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

***

"We don't have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, BJ." Sidney lowered himself onto a chair, across the tent from Father Mulcahy and BJ. "We can talk about anything you like."

"For now." The young doctor darted his eyes towards his footlocker, then back to the man before him.

Sidney nodded his head in reluctant agreement. "For now."

"But no matter what I say, it'll all find it's way back to Evans and this -- this thing I do, won't it?" BJ glared, absentmindedly folding his arms to hide them from view.

"I suppose it will." Just as defiant, Sidney stared back.

Father Mulcahy gazed back and forth, watching the exchange, and noted the slight twitch of BJ's hand.

There was silence for a moment, as the two men stared each other down, the lone priest witness to it all. "I didn't want you to come, not now."

"Now's as good of time as any, don't you think, BJ?"

BJ bite his lip, tearing his eyes away to stare at his footlocker. His hand began to twitch even quicker, as the silence seemed to grow to a deafening halt.

Slowly, carefully, Sidney said, "Why do you keep glancing at that trunk?"

BJ started, turning to look at the psychiatrist across the room. "What?"

"You keep looking at your trunk. Why?"

BJ narrowed his eyes, defensive. "It's just a trunk, what's it matter if I'm looking at it?"

"You were digging through it earlier, BJ, you --" Father Mulcahy caught himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I suppose I shouldn't --" He cut off, sinking back into his chair.

"No, that's alright Father." Sidney gestured towards the footlocker. "What is it you're looking at, BJ?"

BJ jumped to his feet. "It's a trunk, a stupid trunk, dammit, and I don't see what it has to do with --" He paused, taking a deep breath. "What am I looking at, you want to know what I'm looking at?" He quickly stalked over to where Father Mulcahy sat, dropping down to throw the small footlocker wide open.

Sidney stayed silent, ignoring the frantic looks of worry Father Mulcahy was shooting him.

"What am I looking at? This, this is what I'm looking at!" BJ knocked the trunk to it's side, picking various objects out from the pile of letters, clothing, and other random things. He rapidly stood up, spinning around to stare at the two men before him. Carefully, forcefully, he dropped a small bundle of items into the middle of the floor. "That's what I was looking for."

Sidney craned his neck to get a good look at the bundle.

"The scalpel that mysteriously disappeared from OR and found it's way into my things, a shard of glass from the Post Op window Klinger busted last month with that blasted baseball of his, the needle from the sewing kit I bought in Tokyo, the razor Peg sent me for Christmas, it's all there, go ahead check." BJ pointed at the floor, turning away. "It's all there, and so is the rest of it, every last damn _instrument _I use to mar and tear myself up with. Every last --" As suddenly as it had appeared, BJ's anger dissolved. His breath hitched as he rolled up his sleeve, shoving the white bandage with speckled red spots under Sidney's nose. "Every little bit."

It was then that Hawkeye burst into the Swamp, Nurse Daggett giggling beneath his arm. He stopped dead, taking in the sight before him, as Radar and Margaret approached the tent, their argument dying as they reached the doorway.

Quickly, as if someone had muted her, Nurse Daggett's giggles stopped.


	7. Default Chapter 7

The silence didn't last long, pandemonium breaking out as soon as the shock wore off. Somewhere, in the shuffle of surprised cries, indignant demands, and exaggerated gasps, Nurse Daggett found herself being pushed out the door by Hawkeye.

"Listen, our date -- you understand, I can't -- maybe Thursday night -- I've got to go in there, I've got to --" He paused, gripping her arm. "Don't -- don't say anything to anyone, will you? We're trying to -- I mean we've got it all worked out between us, dragging the rest of the camp in couldn't --"

She nodded, dumbfounded.

"Good, good, that's just --" And then he was gone, back in the tent, and she was left staring at the closed door of the Swamp. Blinking, she managed to turn away and stumble back to her quarters, her mind in a haze. She just couldn't put it together, BJ always was the collected one, the one who was more grounded than any other in the camp. And what, just what on earth, had happened to his arms?

Falling into her bunk, oblivious to the probing questions about why she was back from her date so early, she closed her thoughts to the goings-on in the Swamp, working to remember the sly grin Hawkeye had given her that sent chills down her spine.

Instead, all Nurse Daggett could seem to remember was the pained and panic look his face had held right before he had disappeared back into his tent.

***

"My god, BJ what -- your arms, what happened to your arms?" Margaret cried, flinging herself across the small space and over to where he stood. Once there, she began to inspect him with such intensity BJ had to fight the urge to flinch away. "The blood's clotted and it doesn't seem to be serious enough for stitches, but --" She cut off, looking up into his face. "What the hell happened to you?"

"You should see the other guy." BJ grinned. Catching sight of Hawkeye's face, he quickly sobered up. "I -- it's nothing Margaret, I --"

"Nothing?" Hawkeye suddenly spoke up. "The hell it's nothing!"

"Hawkeye," Father Mulcahy pulled himself to his feet, reaching a hand out in warning, "Let's not --"

BJ pulled his arm from Margaret's hand, staring at the raven-haired man leaning against the door frame. "Hawk, come on, don't --"

"I shouldn't have left, I should have stayed here. What the hell was I thinking, leaving to go on some date, some stupid date."

Father Mulcahy looked to where Sidney sat, silent and watchful, and pleading for help with his eyes. Radar, acutely aware of the mounting tension, darted his gaze back and forth, biting at his lip.

"I don't understand." Margaret took a step forward, toward BJ. "What's going on? What's Pierce talking about?"

"Now let's not -- let's not let our emotions get the best of us." Father Mulcahy ventured. "We don't want to say anything we may regret." He pointedly looked to Hawkeye, letting the entire tent know just who he thought would regret saying something.

"I can -- I can leave if --"

"Stay, Radar."

Radar immediately fell onto the nearest cot.

"Hawk, let the kid go if --"

He jumped back to his feet again.

"He can stay, he deserves --"

Sitting back on the cot, Radar lightly touched a hand to his head. "Could you sirs please make up your mind? All this sitting and standing is starting to make me dizzy."

"Forget it." Hawkeye turned away.

Margaret, frustrated at the situation, reached for the nearest chair. Sliding into it, she made it clear she had no intention of leaving until she knew what was going on. "Will someone please tell me what happened?" She glared up at the others.

Sidney, as calm and collected as ever, continued to watch the scene unfolding as if he were detached from it.

"Look, Margaret, it's taken care of, you don't --"

"I can see it's taken care of." Hawkeye spit out. Turning back around, he added, "Dammit, Beej, I told you to come to me, I told you to -- I'm just trying to help, you and your _stupid_ pride --"

"Maybe," Father Mulcahy cleared his throat, backing toward the door, "We should leave before we get further in the way. Major, Radar, why don't we go over to the Officer's Club and I'll --" It was then he stumbled over the small bundle that lay forgotten on the floor. Frantically clawing at the tent pole for his balance, Father Mulcahy watched with the others as the contents of the bundle came spewing out, sliding across the floor in every which way.

"Beej, what's --" Hawkeye stopped. Leaning over, he gently picked the scalpel from the dust on the floor, wiping the tiny flecks of red off the tip. He slowly meet his gaze with BJ's, eyes full of a pain no one could quite recall seeing before. "Oh, Beej."

Radar's eyes widened, realizing just what lay at his feet. Carefully, he lifted the shard of glass from the ground. He look up at the blonde man across the tent.

Father Mulcahy breathed out an "oh dear", taking up the shaving blade a few feet away.

Margaret, watching the others around her, brow knitted in confusion, reached for the sewing needle that lay just left of her side. Glancing back and forth at it and BJ, she fought to wrap her mind around what all the others had managed to grasp.

"Hunnicut, what --"

BJ began to shake, ever so slightly, just enough so that Sidney's watchful eye caught it. His eyes darted around the room, from one person to another, wide in what could only be defined as fear. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he gave one last look to Sidney, begging for help.

"I think," Sidney broke in, at long last, "I'd like a cup of coffee. Major, Father, Radar; care to join me?" His voice left the impression that, although he poised it as a request, they had no choice but to follow him.

"I -- I don't understand what --" Margaret shook her head. "You'll have to excuse me Major, I'm on Post Op duty. I came to get -- well, I'll just tell the nurse they'll have to do without tonight." Suddenly, she was Margaret again, all business behind her rough exterior. "I'll expect to see one of you, Pierce and Hunnicut, at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. My nurses are not there to take up the slack when --"

"Major." Father Mulcahy coughed.

"Right." She stood up, making her way to the door. "Oh-seven-hundred. And don't think I'll just forget all about this here, because I won't. First thing in the morning I'm finding out what happened if I have to pry it from your teeth myself."

Hawkeye nodded, waving her out.

"BJ," Father Mulcahy turned back, hesitating, "I'll be in my tent, all night, if you need me. If you want to talk or just -- well, my door is always open, especially now."

"I'll tell the Colonel that Major Houlihan and you worked something out."

"Radar, if Potter wants --"

"I'll tell him Captain Hunnicut's indisposed." Radar finished.

"Right."

Sidney groaned as he stood up. Watching the Priest and Corporal make their way into the biting wind and hurry across the compound, he tossed over his shoulder, "I'll be back before too late, BJ." Again, his tone seemed to leave no room for discussion.

Suddenly, the tent was empty save for Hawkeye and BJ, the quiet as deafening as the artillery blast they had grown to sleep through.

"Beej," Hawkeye voice was low, hardly above a whisper, and as cold as the ice forming across the cesspool at that moment, "What the hell were you --"

"I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking and I don't need you rubbing that in my face."

"I'm not --"

BJ sank to the edge of the cot, and began to pull his sleeves back over the bloody bandages. "Hawk, I think I'm -- I think I may be in more trouble than I thought."

Hawkeye was at a loss for words, unable to come up with a fitting reply. Instead, he dropped down next to BJ, slung and arm around his shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.

They stared into the fire, watching it jump and spark, for longer than either could rightly say.

***

"Major, the patient in bed six, I'm not sure if it's anything to worry about, but he says his stomach pains are worse." Kellye paused. "Major?"

"What? Oh, uh, right." Craning her neck, Margaret quickly scanned the chart being held before her. "Take his temperature and vital signs. If they're regular, we'll just keep a close watch on him the rest of the night."

Kellye nodded, hurrying off to a nearby cot.

Now, Margaret had seen her fair share of gore and blood. As a nurse in a combat zone it was expected. She had seen things that had left her sick for days, things that would curl the hair of most any other person. She had, at times, been the only thing holding a man's kidney in one piece, and had once been the person in charge of cleaning the blood and brains from the walls after a suicidal soldier had gotten hold of his gun. Over the years she had learned to detach herself from the gore of wartime surgery, and managed to get through most weeks without losing her lunch. 

This, the pain and horror in BJ's eyes, the look of the stained bandages, this was different. There was something going on, something she didn't know, and she was certain it couldn't be good. The look on Hawkeye's face as he picked up the scalpel was enough to --

The scalpel. A bag filled with scalpels and glass. The looks of pain on everyone's faces as they conspicuously glanced at those awful red bandages. Sidney.

Suddenly, it all began to slip into place.

"Kellye!" Margaret jumped up, barking out.

"Yes, Major?" Startled at the noise, the Lieutenant glanced up from taking a groaning man's temperature.

"I'll be with the Colonel. If there's any problem, I want you to come straight to me, and not Captains Pierce and Hunnicut, is that understood?" She headed for the door without waiting for an answer. "I have to -- Hunnicut -- the Colonel needs to --"

She stalked out, leaving a bewildered Kellye behind.

***

"Amen." Father Mulcahy unfolded his hands, letting out a slight groan as he pulled himself from his knees. Pulling back the covers from his cot, he reached across to his desk and lifted the Bible given to him by his sister three days before he left Philadelphia for Korea,

It wasn't until he had read the same passage three times without realizing what he was reading that Father Mulcahy thought to close the book. Most times, when he found himself troubled, reading a favored verse or two would set his mind right at ease. Tonight was not such a case.

As a priest in a medical unit three miles from the front, Father Mulcahy was almost used to feeling helpless. In his line of work, he never had learned his way around an operating table and could hardly tell a kidney from a spleen. The religious services given every Sunday morning were always politely ignored, no matter what he did, the living conditions for the orphans worsened, and Father Mulcahy was often left to stand at the sides, watching, while the doctors brought a man from the brink of death. It wasn't uncommon for him to go through bouts of helpless feelings, getting so low he nearly reached depression. But, without fail, something would always bring him back, some small sign of the help he was would appear and Father Mulcahy would be back to the cheerful priest everyone knew. Whether a smile from one of the orphans, a heartfelt thanks from a wounded soldier reconciled with God, helping another man through a difficult time; without fail, it would happen.

This time, there was something different about the feeling Father Mulcahy was having. The image of a bloody BJ was burned in his mind, and each time he recalled it, Father Mulcahy could feel the knot in his stomach growing tighter.

Sighing, he climb out of his cot, dropping to his knees once more.

"Dear Lord," He began.

***

At long last he tore his eyes from the stove, glancing to where BJ sat, eyes unfocused.

"Beej --"

"I'm sorry." His voice seemed as if it were coming from far away. "I should have --"

Hawkeye coughed, working to set the thoughts whirling through his mind in order. "There's just -- there's so much blood in this damn place already."

"I know."

"It's one thing to see it pouring from some kid I'll never see again, but my best friend is almost worse." Hawkeye stood up and began to pace. "No, it is worse. This war, this damn war, it's already taken so much from us, ruined so much. It's ripped us from our homes, forced us to work for eighteen hours straight on children blown to pieces just so they can get sent back and blown up all over again. It's taken everything we've had from us, and replaced it with death and killing and blood and --" Hawkeye's voice, which had steadily been rising, cut off abruptly. Taking a deep breath, he smacked a hand against the tent pole, adding, "I won't let it take you too."

"I thought he was in the clear, Hawk." BJ said, as if he didn't he a word of Hawkeye's rampage. "He was doing fine, I thought that Evans kid was going to make it. I knew it's be hard going, but I could have _sworn_ he would --" He dropped back, stretching out on his cot.

Hawkeye stopped his pacing, glancing across the tent.

"It hurt so much, god it hurt. I didn't even realize what I was doing, I didn't even notice until I couldn't feel that pain in the pit of my stomach anymore. You know that pain, Hawk?"

"Yeah, I know that pain." He dropped to his cot, staring at BJ.

"I started bleeding and right away that pain was gone and it felt so good -- so good, Hawkeye! I -- I think I'd do it all over again if --" He didn't finish, having no need to. Instead, BJ lifted a shaky hand, pointing at the forgotten bundle on the ground. "Just -- just get that out of here Hawk, I never want to see it again. Get it out of here, I don't care what you do with it. Get it away."

Hawkeye nodded, dropping to the ground to gather the razor, sewing needle and other "instruments".

"God, I'm so tired. I can hardly -- if Sidney comes tell him to -- I'm so tired." BJ struggled to roll over, eyes heavy.

"Get some sleep, Beej." He paused before adding, "I'll be here."

BJ managed to make a soft agreeing noise before sleep got the best of him, his breaths evening out as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Hawkeye watched him a moment, then turned back to the task at hand.

***

"Radar? You still awake?" Hawkeye called, barging into the office ten minutes later. Radar sprang up from his bed, fumbling for his glasses.

"Yes, sir, I am now." Slipping his glasses firmly on, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot. "What is it, Hawkeye?"

"I want you to take this," Hawkeye said, holding out a bundle, "And lock it in your footlocker."

Radar's eyes grew wide as he let out a small gasp. "Isn't that --"

"Yes. BJ wants me to get rid of it. Yours is one of the only locks we haven't found a way to break into to yet, outside of Potter and the cook." Once again, he thrust the bundle toward Radar. "I want you to take it and lock it up. Leave it there, no matter what anyone tells you."

"That's an officer's private belongings, I can't take that!"

Hawkeye tossed the bundle onto the bed and began to tug at the lock on the trunk at his feet. "Look, Radar, right now Beej is asleep and I promised him I wouldn't leave. I've got to get back to the Swamp, I don't have much time to argue with you. Unless you want BJ to do -- what happened tonight, all over again, I suggest you take this."

Radar paused, signs of relenting evident in his eyes. Skeptical, he asked, "I just have to leave it there?"

"No matter what BJ tells you, even if he begs you, pulls rank, I don't care -- no matter what he says, you keep it locked up." Hawkeye looked him straight in the eye. "Understand."

Radar nodded, leaning over to open the footlocker. "I understand."

***

Sidney sat in the empty Mess Tent, huddled over a steaming cup of what he hoped was coffee. Glancing at his watch, he figured at this hour most of the camp was in the Officer's Club, if not the back corner of the Supply Tent. He would be free to think in peace, the gurgling sounds of his "coffee" the only interruption.

Slowly, he turned the problem with BJ over and over in his mind. This wasn't the first time he had been approached with a case like this, but to have the patient be a close friend, and BJ at that, was something he couldn't altogether grasp. He knew, from experience, that something would need to be done about this, and quickly. The longer a patient was left untreated, the harder it would be to find a treatment that worked.

Sighing, Sidney ventured a sip from his mug, struggling to swallow it down. He knew what had to be done, but he didn't have to like it. How many times had he done just what he was about to do? He was a professional, this was his job, his specialty.

This was different, this wasn't the same as all those other cases. This was personal, and, Sidney knew, would be much harder to treat. Taking one last swig of coffee, he stood up, and made his way out the door and back to the Swamp.

There was only one thing to do. Until he was no longer a harm to himself, BJ would have to be sent to the hospital in Seoul for psychiatric observation.

An indefinite vacation. Sidney bit at his lip, hurrying through the Korean night.


	8. Default Chapter 8

"Get -- get up you little swine! Where's the --" Margaret prodded at the snoring lump beneath the covers. Glaring, she took in a deep breath and shouted out, "Corporal!"

Suddenly, Radar sprang up, eyes wide. "What! What -- Major Houlihan!"

She only narrowed her eyes in reply. Radar weakly grinned and reached a hand out for his glasses while nonchalantly sliding his bear beneath a pillow. "What is it, Major, what's wrong?"

"Where's the Colonel?"

"The --"

"The Colonel! I need to see the Colonel immediately, Corporal, where is he?"

Radar slipped his glasses into place and reached around Margaret, fumbling for his robe. "He's sleeping, Major."

"He is not." Margaret huffed as she stepped closer. "I went to his tent. It's as empty as your --"

"He's not in his tent, ma'am, sir."

"Corporal, if you do not tell me exactly where Colonel Potter is, this instant, I'll have you on report for insubordination faster than you can squeak out one more 'sir'."

"Yes, sir. Ma'am. Sir." Radar jumped to his feet quickly crossed the small office, knotting the robe closed. "He's in his office, I'll go and get --"

"Go and get --" Margaret sighed as the young Corporal darted through the door. "Colonel Potter."

Hardly a moment passed before Radar's head peered back into the office.

"He wants to know who wants to see him, Major."

Margaret merely stared back. He nodded and ducked back in. A second later and --

"He wants to know why you insist on waking him 'before the roosters are in full voice'."

"Tell him --" Margaret faltered. "That's none of your business, O'Reilly."

Once again, a pause.

"He says if that's your reason why, it can wait."

Fuming, she worked to plaster a smile on her face, never thinking the grimace on Radar's had anything to do with that. "I just -- BJ -- he --" Margaret stopped. "Fine, fine! But I'll be back here in the morning quicker than he can say -- he can say --" She glared down at the figure cowering before her, and stormed from the office and into Post Op. Radar let out a small breath he hadn't even been aware of holding as her frustrated yells grew faint.

Letting the door quietly shut behind him, Radar darted a quick glance at the still sleeping figure of Colonel Potter, undisturbed and calmly snoring, and made his way back to his bed.

This, he knew, was going to be a problem.

***

Tugging the collar of his parka higher, Sidney stepped up to the door of the Swamp, and quickly knocked. Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door a crack, and peered in. 

"Anyone home?"

Hawkeye looked up, startled by the psychiatrist's sudden appearance. "That depends. Mentally or physically?" Dropping the pen from his hand, he quickly pulled himself to his feet and opened the door the rest of the way for Sidney to enter. "I didn't know you made house calls."

"The way I figure," Sidney shrugged, tightly shutting the door behind him, "this is more important than the AMA."

Hawkeye weakly smiled. "Your patient is temporarily indisposed, I'm afraid."

"Indisposed?"

Hawkeye motioned to where BJ lay, sprawled out on his cot, lightly snoring. "I thought I'd let him sleep." Reaching for the still, he asked, over his shoulder, "Martini, Sid?"

"At this hour?"

"Better late than never."

"What the hell, my liver's too healthy as it is. Hand one over." Hawkeye quickly filled two glasses to the brim, pressing one into Sidney's waiting hands. A moment passed, filled with careful, silent sips, as they seated themselves near the stove.

Hawkeye looked over at the man asleep no more then three feet away. Resting his arms on his legs, he drank deeply from the glass he held. "He was tired."

Sidney nodded and gestured at the half-written letter behind him. "Writing your dad?"

"No -- uh." Hawkeye took another sip, glancing up. "Peg, actually."

"Peg as in BJ's-wife-Peg?" Sidney raised an eyebrow.

Hawkeye merely shrugged. "I'll let him read it before I send it, but --" He waved his hand in a half-lost manner.

"Actually," Sidney drained his glass, placing it on the floor beside him, "I think it's a good idea. Having two of the most important people in his life help him through this -- well, it may do more than I ever could."

"Than you could." Hawkeye mumbled under his breath. He looked away.

Sidney hesitated, watching the man fidget across from him. "Something on you mind, Hawkeye? Free of charge."

A shrug. "Nothing you wouldn't expect. I'm worried, upset, disappointed --" He cut off, sighing as he reached for Sidney's glass. Standing up, he made his way back over to the still. "He apologized. That's all he's been doing, ever since he told me. Apologizing, but I don't think he even knows what for. He insists he's sorry, insists he wants to end this -- this thing, but then he goes and pulls a stupid stunt like he did tonight." 

Sidney turned searching eyes on him. "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry, I have every right to be angry!" Hawkeye slammed a hand down, eyes darting over to where BJ continued to lay, peacefully undisturbed. He sighed. " Alright, I have no right to be angry." Sinking back into his chair, Hawkeye dropped his head into his hands. "God, what's wrong with me? Taking it all out on a man who can hardly handle any more."

"He's betrayed you."

Hawkeye snapped a head up. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong," Sidney held up a hand, halting the words on the tip of the other man's tongue, "All I mean is that you feel as if he's betrayed you, and that's alright. Someone's hurting him, and you want revenge on the man. Problem is, he's that man, so how on earth can you seek that revenge?" Across from him, Hawkeye sat almost entranced by his words. "Through harming himself he's betrayed you, and that would make anyone angry. Though he may be an almost unwilling participant, he's still a participant."

Hawkeye began to absentmindedly nod. "You're right, of course you're right. You should be right, this is your area of expertise. I just -- I've never felt so helpless before. It goes against my nature to stand aside while another man bleeds, but I can't seem to do much else."

Standing, Sidney agreed. "The best any one can do is support him."

Hawkeye looked over at BJ's snoring figure. "I always thought he'd be the one to -- I mean, I just can't grasp it sometimes." He glanced back at Sidney. "You know?" A moment passed. "You will be able to help him?"

It was then that the psychiatrist began to visibly discomfort. "Yes, I --" He coughed. "About that, Hawkeye --"

"Yes?" A suspicious tone.

"I'd like to take BJ back with me, to a hospital in Seoul, where I can properly treat --"

The rest of his words were quickly drowned out by the sounds of Hawkeye jumping to his feet. "You want to take him to -- to Seoul? As in Not Here? As in Away From Here?"

"I had thought to, yes."

Hawkeye spun around, standing directly in front of Sidney. "I thought you believe in treating as close to the front as possible."

"I believe in getting my patients back to the front as soon as possible, but I tend to treat them before I do." Just as defiant, Sidney stood his ground.

"I -- I -- no."

"No?"

Hawkeye nodded, firmly. "No."

Weary, Sidney briefly closed his eyes, opening them to the sight of a stubborn doctor. "Hawkeye, I understand your concern, but I don't think you have the authority to --" He broke off. "Alright, fine, I'll come back after breakfast, and discuss this with BJ, who, I might add, is the only one I could even begin to accept a 'no' from -- and I won't -- and we'll go from there."

Hawkeye fell to his cot, brushing his half-written letter to the floor. "Right."

"Right." Sidney echoed, securing his parka even tighter around him. A moment later, he was gone.

Biting at his lip, Hawkeye folded his arms beneath his head, eyes glued to the canvas above him. Despite his every thought against it, he was soon fast asleep, his snores gently mingling with those already present.

***

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Margaret struggled to focus on the list of patients in her hand. Quickly, she scratched a line out, scrawling a note above it, and laid the clipboard down on the desk. She leaned back in her chair, stretching and rolling the kinks out of her neck.

"Margaret, has any one ever told you that you have the ability to wake a man better than any cup of coffee ever could?"

Margaret nearly fell from her seat, startled by the sudden sound, and spun around to glare at the man behind her. "I beg your pardon, Captain Pierce, I'm an engaged woman!"

"So you say," Hawkeye wearily ran a hand through his hair, craning his neck to get a glance at the papers spread out across the desk, "Every single moment you can." Reaching over the irate woman, he grabbed for the top paper and stepped up to the nearest bed, ready to begin rounds. "You're relieved, Margaret. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot."

"What? Oh." She glanced down at her watch. "I guess I lost track of the hour." Standing, Margaret began to straighten the mess, pausing at one form in particular. "Pierce --"

"So they say." He glanced up from where he stood, taking a man's pulse.

"A copy of Evan's death certificate needs to be made for our records and one for the records over at Grave Registration, so that the original can be sent to the family along with the remains --"

Hawkeye stood, fighting back his annoyance. "That's Radar's deal, Major." Turning away, he leaned over a cot, listening to the whispers of an excessively bandaged man.

"I thought that since BJ filled out the --" She cut off, as remembrance suddenly struck her.

"When's the last time this man was given morphine?"

Margaret didn't answer, hardly hearing him.

Hawkeye sighed, motioned for the soldier to wait, and repeated, louder, "Major, I asked when this man last had a morphine shot?"

Margaret whipped her head around, blankly looking at him. Quickly, she reached a decision. "Captain Pierce, I want you to know that I know just exactly what you and Captain Hunnicut, and god knows who else, are trying to cover up. I know all about what went on last night, and I also want you to know that I have every intent to take this before the Colonel."

Hawkeye felt his breath hitch. He hesitated, wondering if perhaps he had misheard the Head Nurse. "Ex -- Excuse me?"

"A man as unstable as --"

Rapid steps brought Hawkeye before her in seconds, exhausted eyes wide open. "Colonel Potter, Major? I can't -- you can't --"

"I can and I will."

"For what good?" He quickly shut his mouth, telling himself that a calm approach was the one most likely to lead to a solution.

"The good of the outfit. A man in Hunnicut's condition cannot be expected to --"

"His condition?"

Margaret neatly set the papers back down onto the desk, and looked over to where Hawkeye stood, concern and anxiety blatantly written across his features. "This conversation is over, Captain." She gave one final turn on her heels, and walked from the room as one who knew they held the upper hand.

Hawkeye sank into the chair haphazardly pulled out from beneath the desk, dropping his clipboard beside him. First Sidney, now Margaret. Briefly, the thought that there was no easy answer crossed his mind.

***

"Good morning, Father. Mind if I take a seat?" Sidney, balancing a tray and mug of coffee, gestured toward the space across from Father Mulcahy.

"No, no, not at all." Father Mulcahy stood, taking the mug from the psychiatrist and setting it down before him. As Sidney slid into the seat he added, "I was hoping to talk to you, actually."

Sidney glanced around at the near-empty Mess Tent. "Not much of a crowd today." He lifted a fork, prodding at what might have once been eggs. "Not that I blame them." He dropped his fork, what little appetite he had now gone.

"No, I can't say breakfast looks particularly appealing today. Casualties are expected later, I suppose most of the camp is sleeping while they still can." Father Mulcahy sipped at his mug, fighting a grimace.

"You say you wanted to talk?"

Setting his mug down and clearing his throat, Father Mulcahy nodded. "I understand the patient-doctor relationship, and the trust placed in the confidentiality between them, but I wonder, perhaps, if you could --"

"You're curious about BJ." Pushing his tray aside and leaning forward, Sidney shrugged. "While you're right about the confidentiality, I can tell you this -- I haven't spoken to him since the little party in the Swamp last night."

"Oh, I -- I see." Father Mulcahy looked down, swirling his coffee around. "Can you -- can you tell me if he'll be alright?"

"I haven't lost a patient yet." A small lie, though Sidney doubted the priest would mind.

He was right. Visibly, the man almost instantly relaxed, bringing his coffee to him lips once more. "That's all I wanted to hear. It's -- well, reassuring."

Sidney nodded. Excusing himself, he lifted his tray and made his way for the door, wishing he could find the same confidence.

***

Slamming the door behind him, Frank stormed over to his cot, dropping his bag down heavily. Moronic helicopter pilot, nearly killing them both by dodging this way and that -- Frank was sure those bullets would have missed them anyway -- and then he has the audacity to call Frank a -- a -- it was too profane to even think about. Roughly tugging his bag open, he wondered what half those words even meant, anyway.

On the other side of the tent, BJ blearily open one eye, peering out at the source of all the racket. "Frank, turn down the volume to this temper tantrum, will you? Some of us are trying to get some sleep."

Unaware he wasn't alone, Frank started and spun on his heels. Catching sight of BJ half buried beneath a blanket, pillow tightly pulled over his head, he let out a scoff. "Reveille was hours ago, sleeping off a hangover?"

"No, Frank, I am, unfortunately, completely sober." Looking the other man up and down, BJ added, "I see I'm not the only one without a hangover. What kind of leave were you on?"

Frank lifted his head, pompous through and through. "I, for one, don't need to be soaked in gin to have a good time."

"Frank," BJ closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up around his chin, "You couldn't find a good time if it took up shelter in your skivvies."

Frank narrowed his eyes, lifting a shirt from his bag. "Going to spend the whole day lounging about?" Without waiting for an answer he barreled on. "It's people like you that make me sick, Hunnicut --"

"The feeling's mutual."

"-- wasting the Army's time and money. You're here to serve your country, beat back the reds, fight for Democracy, not drink and sleep and --"

"Frank," BJ lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows, "If I told you to shut up now, could I be spared the lecture?"

A tsk-ing sound and the rustling of a bag was the only reply. Sighing, BJ leaned back in the bed, and had almost drifted back to sleep when the door slammed open again. A brisk draft shot it's way straight to BJ, and he hurried to pulled the blanket tighter around him.

"Shut the door!"

Doing just that, and hurrying to the stove to warm whatever frozen extremities his walk from Post Op had produced, Hawkeye caught sight of Frank. Jerking his head toward the man, he looked over at BJ. "Frank back?"

"Yes, and without any alcohol in his system." BJ rolled over, working to shut out the sounds bouncing off the small canvas walls.

"I've got Nurse Daggett covering for me in Post Op. I just wanted to check in."

"Post --" Then, without warning, BJ abruptly remembered the night before. Eyes widening, he managed to stammer out, "Oh, god -- Hawk, I --"

Frank, shamelessly listening in, glanced up from where he was crouched over a boot, scrubbing at a fleck of mud. "At least one of you has remember his duty."

Hawkeye darted his eyes back and forth between BJ and Frank, perplexed. "What's he --"

"Don't ask."

"This -- this degenerate insists on sleeping until all hours --"

Hawkeye sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Fink to someone who cares, Frank."

"All I'm saying is someone who claims to be so concerned about the well-being of his fellow man wouldn't spend all his time laying about while that fellow man fought to insure his government, dying for his right to lay --"

Glancing at BJ, unsurprisingly wide awake, Hawkeye bent down over the stove, grabbing a bit of wood for the fire. "Frank, I'm warning you --"

"Hardly doing anything to help the cause, just laying there." Pulling a Bible from his bag, Frank carefully set it down on his desk between a recent picture of his wife and a photo of Margaret taken a few months before. "He calls himself a humanitarian --"

"I've never once called myself that." BJ broke in, a stab of pain evident in his voice.

"-- Thinks he's so much better than a ranking surgeon."

"Frank --" Slamming the stove door closed, Hawkeye straighten, shooting deadly looks at the back of the Major.

"If he can't pull himself from bed, you have to admit he can't be worth the --"

Hawkeye loudly sighed, slipping out of his parka. Puzzled, BJ watched as he ripped his gloves from his hands. "I warned you, Frank. Now I have no choice." A split second later he stood above the other man, pinning him with one hand, the other pulled back. BJ blinked, raising a hand to try and halt what he knew was coming.

A loud knock rang out and all three of the men snapped their heads to look at the door, temporarily forgetting what was playing out before them. Before a they had a chance to reply, the door flew open, and Colonel Potter strolled in.

"Captain, Major, Captain." He paused, taking in the scene before him. "Pierce, get off Burns, last thing you need is another Court Marshal." Catching sight of BJ, wide-eyed and unconsciously folding his arms before him, Colonel Potter got right to the business at hand.

"You'll be interested to know, Hunnicut, that I just had a rather fascinating conversation with Major Houlihan."


End file.
